The Fake Heartbreak (Searching for Love Book 3) Page 8

  On my good days. Today, I can already tell, is not one of my good days.

  Usually, I’m in the zone by the time I get to the audition site. I know whichever songs I’m about to perform are like in the back of my mind, and I spend the waiting time meditating on the emotions and skillset I want to exemplify in the audition.

  The day before an audition, I’ll have rehearsed my songs over and over. Yes, I rehearsed a bit this week, but I’ve been so out of it and distracted.

  I usually try and eat super healthy before an audition as well. But this week, I opted to grab a greasy burger or fast food most nights.

  I squirm around in my chair before reaching into my bag and pulling out my water bottle. I start to chug it. Maybe, I’ve screwed up my other preparation, but I can still make sure I’m hydrated.

  But then I start to worry that I’ll have to pee as soon as I get into the room, and I shove the water bottle back into my bag.

  I glance down at my clothes. Not even my usual audition outfit – a patterned mini-skirt and cropped white blouse with my trusty heeled black boots – is feeling right today. I feel bloated and pale, and I yank at my curls, wondering if they look greasy.

  As I try to recall the last time I washed my hair, I hear my name.

  I swallow, pick up my guitar, and walk into the room.

  The three people running the casting are polite, but terrifying. They’re always terrifying, with their notes and pieces of paper. Every time, I tell myself that they probably have no talent and couldn’t sing if their lives depended on it and that’s why they’re in charge of casting, but it never helps. Like I said, they have the power and I don’t.

  I take a breath and try to give them a chipper smile, but my mouth feels all wobbly. “Hello, I’m Marianne Gellar.”

  “Great, Marianne,” the lady in the center of the table says. “Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

  From my very first note, I know it’s not my best. It’s not even my second best. In fact, halfway through my set, I know it’s well below average and close to my worst audition.

  It’s not that my voice sounds awful, it just has those shaky moments. And, since I’m performing original songs, those shaky moments are massive issues. When performing new stuff that people haven’t heard before, you have to make sure your technique is extra good.

  My head isn’t in the performance either. I don’t feel confident, and I don’t feel prepared. So of course, my heart isn’t in it either. I struggle to inject my songs with any sort of emotion besides extreme nervousness. And nerves are not pleasant to witness.

  When you have gone on as many auditions as I have in the last four years, you know when you’ve lost a job. And, as I stand up and tell the people at the table it was nice to meet them, and as they tell me I’m free to go, I know I’ve lost this one.

  They’re not going to get in touch, and I’m not even getting a callback. I wasn’t bad, just forgettable. They’re going to forget Marianne Gellar ever existed, just as soon as I leave that room.

  I rush for the exit, biting back tears. I refuse to cry right outside an audition, so I manage to make it to the bus stop before the tears trickle down my cheeks.

  I don’t know what’s happened to me. I haven’t been this demoralized after an audition in years. Yes, I’ve had a few bad auditions, everyone has, but usually I just pick myself up and move onto the next one.

  This time it’s so dreadful because I know I could have done better. If I had only rehearsed more, I wouldn’t have doubted myself on the high note. If I had only made sure to get a lot of sleep this week, I wouldn’t have lacked energy this morning. I could have gotten this gig. It wasn’t impossible or out of my reach.

  Sometimes, it’s out of your control. You can sing your absolute best, and you can show all your talent, but you won’t stand a chance. You’re not the right look or the right vibe or you don’t know the right people.

  Those auditions suck, but they’re easier to get over. If that was the case today, I could shrug it off and think about the next opportunity.

  This audition wasn’t like that though. I’ve been to this festival. I know what type of artists get booked, and I could have fit in easily. I could have been what they’re looking for. I just didn’t show up today.

  The bus pulls up, and I lift myself off the bench and get on. I sit by a window and watch the city fly by in a blur as the bus takes me back towards my neighborhood.

  I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Lately, I’ve just felt so unsatisfied. I no longer get that much joy from going out with Brie and Mark and other fun people I used to adore being around. I get so mopey about how I’ve been at Lucy’s for over four years. And every day, I start to question every single choice I’ve made.

  I must be having some sort of quarter-life crisis.

  I never used to get scared. Auditions, open mics, uncertainty about the future – none of it scared me. Lately, fear has crept into my life and settled down to stay. I’ve started worrying about the future. What if I’m 30 and still working at a coffee shop? What if I turn 35 and have nothing to show for it? And what if I want to buy my own house someday? How will I do that unless I have a reasonable salaried job?

  Worst of all, I fear that my dream of turning singing and songwriting into a career won’t pan out. I never used to worry about that. I figured if I worked hard and had the talent, then everything would work out. It would happen for me. Now I worry that maybe I haven’t worked hard enough, or maybe I’m not as talented as I think. Or maybe even that it takes luck to make it in show business, and that good luck just isn’t in the cards for me.

  Maybe I’ve wasted all this time on a silly pipe dream that is never going to come true.

  I never used to think like this, but now doubt permeates my every thought. Dissatisfaction has woven its way into every second of my day.

  I chew my lip as I realize that the only recent time I’ve felt happy and excited and alive was when I was pretending to be Leo’s girlfriend. Something about the challenge and the newness and maybe even the risk of the job just electrified me.

  I turn my phone over in my hands. Maybe I should stop thinking and analyzing and just go with my gut. Say yes to his proposition. Pretend to be someone else, just for a few days.

  Then, as if the fates were in on it, my phone buzzes with a new email from Leo.

  I open it up without hesitating:

  Hello Marianne,

  Just checking if you’ve had a chance to think this over. I need to know if you’re interested in doing the wedding weekend soon. You did such a good job at the bridal shower, I think you would be amazing at the wedding as well.

  We can obviously negotiate payment as well. I might even be convinced to add in a bonus for a dress budget.

  Regards,

  LW

  I smile at the email. It’s so Leo. No checking if I’m ok, or apologizing for being pushy, he just needs an answer. He did try and make a joke though about the dress budget. I appreciate that at least.

  And now it’s extra clear that the wedding would be another gig, which is what I figured, but this email makes it obvious. He would pay me again. I would be pretending.

  That no longer seems so reprehensible. In fact, now that I know what it’s like to pretend to be Leo’s girlfriend, this wedding sounds like a chance to forget my worries and just be someone else for a few days.

  Someone who has her life together. Someone who is in a happy and committed relationship. Someone who loves her job and doesn’t stay up at night worrying about the future.

  It’s just one weekend. It’s not like I’m trying to run away from my problems forever. I just want to run away for a few days.

  Without thinking about what my friends would say, I hit Reply. I type just two words: I’m in.

  Then I hit send.

  As soon as it’s done, I feel better. There’s a flurry of excitement in my stomach, my eyes are no longer watering with unshed tears. I’m already considering
what I’ll wear and what little nuances I can add to my performance over the course of a whole wedding weekend.

  By the time I get home, I’ve completely forgotten about the horrible audition. I’m onto the next job. I can play the part of Leo’s girlfriend. I did it once, and I can do it again.

  Who cares if I don’t book the festival? Who cares if my songs never get famous? There’s one thing I know I can do, and it’s tricking a bunch of wedding guests into thinking I’m someone and something I’m not. It’s not much, but it’s something.

  Come August, I’m going to be the best fake girlfriend the world has ever seen.

  13

  Leo calls while I’m getting ready for bed. It’s only eight, but I have to be up at five in the morning for an early shift at Lucy’s.

  I’m surprised he is calling. He’s been so obsessed with email as a way of communication.

  I suppose he figures that my agreeing to the wedding weekend ups the stakes enough that he feels a phone call is necessary. Or he wants to check if there’s any lingering awkwardness.

  I swallow as the phone rings and his name flashes on my screen. There probably will be some awkwardness. We did sleep together, after all, back when I thought we would never see each other outside of Lucy’s ever again. And seeing him at Lucy’s was bad enough.

  It’s not wise to avoid his call. That will just delay the inevitable.

  I snatch the phone up and answer the call.

  “Hello, Leo, how are you?” I wince. I sound so stilted and formal. He must be rubbing off on me.

  “Hi, Marianne, I’m well.”

  Leo clears his throat, and I think he’s going to bring up how we slept together. My mind scrambles for something, anything, to avoid that topic, but I draw a complete blank.

  Leo surprises me though. “The wedding weekend will be more complicated than the bridal shower.”

  “Agreed.” My lips curve into a smile as I cradle the phone closer to my ear. “That’s why I’ll be charging a premium for my services.”

  Leo chuckles, and I’m comforted by the sound. We don’t have to be as awkward as we were at Lucy’s the other day. We can joke and be friendly.

  “We’ll need to drive up to the inn the day before,” Leo says. “”Then there’s the rehearsal dinner that night, and the wedding and reception the next day.”

  “Ok,” I say. “So lots of time interacting with a lot of different people.”

  “Exactly.” Leo is all business. He had a triumph at the shower, and now he has his eye on a second win. “I think we should meet to go over more details sometime in the next week or so. Just so we don’t get tripped up by anything.”

  “I’m up for the challenge,” I say. “Your friends are pretty trusting, I don’t think anyone will be trying to trip us up.”

  “Still, I don’t want to leave room for any sort of disaster.”

  I nod. He has a point. Getting caught at the wedding would be catastrophic. Not to mention the scandal would probably ruine what is supposed to be Jacob and Melanie’s special day. Not that I care that much about them, they’re Leo’s friends, not mine. But still. Mel and Jacob were nice to me.

  I brush off the spasm of guilt at the memory of the bride and groom’s kindness. “Ok, we can find a time to meet, maybe on the weekend.”

  “Perfect,” Leo says. “I’ll email you later.”

  “Leo.” I lower my voice to a faux serious tone. “Do you know how to text? Do you need me to teach you?”

  He laughs again, and I find myself grinning like a fool.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Leo says. “But seriously, I’ll email you.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say. “I’m assuming we’ll need to renegotiate payment?”

  “Of course,” Leo says. “I’m willing to give you a 50% raise on what I gave you last time.”

  I scoff. He’s lowballing me. “Are you kidding? I was going to suggest we double it since it’s two days, and then add on additional bonuses to account for travel, clothing, makeup, and potential lost opportunities.”

  “What do you mean lost opportunities?” he asks.

  “What if I run into one of the guests at a future job interview or audition?” I ask. “And, I don’t get it because they think I’m your ex or whatever.”

  “That would never happen.” Leo’s tone is flat-out dismissive, but I know him well enough by now to see that this is just how he negotiates. He’s probably having a good time with this banter. So am I.

  “Look, the audience at the shower was small,” I say. “I’m guessing this audience will be much bigger. How many are there, 75 guests? 100? More?”

  Leo is silent. He’s clearly not going to give me the guest number. I must be right in that it’s 100 or more.

  “I’m playing a bigger theater, that means bigger pay,” I say. “Every actress knows that rule.”

  “Ok, but you’re also getting a free weekend trip to a countryside inn and lake,” Leo says. “It’s not like you’re memorizing Shakespeare or doing anything arduous.”

  “Vacation? Yeah right,” I say. “I’m going to have to be at work all weekend in order to live up to your standards.”

  “Ok, how about this?” Leo asks. “We’ll both mull it over and then nail down an official figure when we meet to plan out details.”

  I furrow my brow. It’s some business strategy. I’m sure of it. He knows he’s behind in the conversation. I have more power and more reasons to get a higher pay, so he’s tabling the entire discussion until later so he can gather his own resources and sculpt his own argument.

  I narrow my eyes. He doesn’t know how stubborn I can be. We’ll delay the conversation, but I’m not going to settle. To be honest, I’m having too much fun negotiating.”

  “Fine, if you think that will work in your favor,” I say. “Although I don’t think it will.”

  He laughs again, and I smile into the phone.

  “Alright, I’ll email you,” Leo says. “And, maybe see you at Lucy’s as well?”

  I hear the implied questions in his voice. He’s wondering why he hasn’t seen me in the morning all week. Well, I’m not about to confess to avoiding him.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say, trying to keep my voice as breezy as possible. “My shifts are pretty scattered and inconsistent.”

  “Right.” Leo pauses. “About what happened that night.”

  My shoulders deflate. I knew this was coming. And he’s probably right: it’s best to just get this out in the open. We can’t live in denial.

  “It was fun,” I say.

  Guys live in mortal fear of girls who get emotional and weepy after sex. I’m not that girl, and I never have been. I don’t want Leo to feel like he needs to tiptoe around my feelings.

  “Yeah, I agree,” Leo says. “But also maybe a one-time thing?”

  I can tell how uncomfortable he is with this conversation. He’s probably used to girls who get clingy after one hook-up. I’m happy to inform him that I’m not like that.

  “Oh, for sure,” I say. “Don’t worry, I’ve been assuming it was casual.”

  “Right.” Leo pauses as if he is trying to think what else to say, but can’t really think of anything. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, I’ll just send that email,” Leo says. “And, I’ll see you later.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I know it’s for the best that we’ve acknowledged our little one-night stand, but I can’t help but wish we had never brought it up. Our conversation was so light and fun when we were negotiating and planning the ruse for the wedding.

  I regret that we have to talk about it, but I still don’t regret that night. I can’t bring myself to regret that. Something about sex with Leo was so amazing.

  Physical chemistry, I remind myself. It was just physical chemistry, nothing more, nothing less.

  “Great,” I say. “Have a good day!”

  Back t
o the stilted overly-formal talking. I’m usually so calm and unflappable during conversations. I don’t get nervous or anxious with small talk. I’m able to just be myself. Something about Leo disrupts that equilibrium.

  “You as well,” Leo says.

  We hang up, and I stare at my phone for a while.

  The wedding is in three weeks. Next week we will meet to discuss the plan. Then there will be only two weeks. For some reason, I’ve been imagining the wedding is this event in the distant future, but it’s not. It’s imminent. Right around the corner.

  Now it’s real. We’ve addressed one elephant in the room, we’re on the same page, as Leo said, so now there’s not even a reason to back out. This is happening. It begins to sink in that I’m actually going to infiltrate an entire wedding weekend with my false persona.

  I lay back against my pillows. I’m excited for the wedding. I am. I want to do this.

  And yet now that it’s been made clear we won’t be repeating our romantic liaison, a sadness has overtaken me.

  I close my eyes. No use over-thinking anything. I just have to keep moving forward.

  14

  As promised, Leo sends me an email suggesting we meet on Saturday. I agree, and we decide to meet at Dark Matter, another coffee shop in Wicker Park. Lucy’s has good coffee, but I’m not about to get all my fellow baristas into a frenzy of gossip by showing up on my day off with Leo, our notoriously grumpy customer.

  After we decide on this, I have nothing to do but wait. I see him a few mornings at Lucy’s, but he’s no longer awkward. He just gets his coffee and leaves with only a smile and a greeting for me. The smile is new, but other than that, he is acting the same way he did before the bridal shower.

  On Saturday, I take care with selecting my outfit. In a way, this coffee meeting is an act as well. I need to show Leo that I’m ready for this challenge. If he senses that I’m nervous or shaky, he’ll pull the plug. He has to know how big a risk this is. The bridal shower was a small ball. The wedding weekend is the big leagues.